


Beside an Ebbing Northern Sea

by Sk3tch, waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beach Holidays, Developing Relationship, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, Sharing a Bed, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26700934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sk3tch/pseuds/Sk3tch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: After stopping the end of the world and dining at the Ritz with one’s hereditary enemy, there’s naturally only one thing left to do: go away on holiday with said former enemy, or now more accurately, very new intimate partner. Six millennia is a long time to work without a break, after all, and bySomebody, they deserve one. The only problem with going away together is, with nothing but time and the freeing sea breeze between them, they'll have to face certain truths and learn how to navigate the greatest plan of all… a life they always wanted to live, together.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35
Collections: GO-Events POV Pairs Works





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the POV Pairs event at GO Events! Sara (waterofthemoon) is writing the chapters from Aziraphale’s POV, and Sk3tch is writing those from Crowley’s. We’ve had a lot of fun brainstorming and writing this so far and hope everyone enjoys it! ❤️
> 
> The title and foreword come from "[By the Sea](https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/by-the-sea-2/)," a poem by Sara Teasdale.

_Beside an ebbing northern sea_  
_While stars awaken one by one,_  
_We walk together, I and he._

*

Several weeks after the world didn't end, on a September day just starting to take on the crispness of autumn, Crowley turned up at the bookshop.

This, in and of itself, was certainly not unusual. Crowley had been showing up more and more in the past few weeks, even more than in the past eleven years. Aziraphale watched as he leapt out of the car and bounded up the steps, where Aziraphale—after a moment of awkward dithering while he decided where to put his hands—greeted him with a kiss to his smiling mouth.

That had been happening more often lately, too. Aziraphale thought he rather liked it, but it was a bit early to tell.

"I'm taking you somewhere," Crowley announced when they separated. "Get your stuff, come on."

"What are you talking about? What stuff?" Aziraphale was sure that Crowley hadn't mentioned any plans. He would have remembered.

Crowley made that face he did when he'd forgotten something and snapped his fingers. Before Aziraphale could say anything, Aziraphale's tartan luggage set, all five pieces of it, appeared from the upstairs flat. The suitcases looked suspiciously full, and Aziraphale was sure that if he went upstairs, he'd find a lot of his things missing.

"We need a holiday." Crowley yanked his sunglasses off. Behind them, his eyes were clear and earnest. "Or, more, I need a holiday, and, ngh." He clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. "I'd really like it if you came with me. If you want."

Aziraphale thought about it. It didn't take much consideration—between staying in London alone with only his quiet bookshop for company, and going with Crowley, it was no contest at all. They'd so recently reconciled their feelings for each other—it would be a terrible shame to have to part now.

"I'd be delighted," Aziraphale said. "I'll only need to grab the books from my bedside—"

"Already done."

"And my autumn coat, and my scarf?" Aziraphale started running a mental tally of all the things he'd need if he was to be away for a while. "What about my tea blends? And, oh, I have a case of a particular vintage that would be just perfect —"

Crowley shrugged in that loose-limbed way of his. "Yeah, all right, I didn't know about the wine. Grab that. Otherwise—" He gestured at the suitcases. "You can check your things if you like, but I promise, you'll be satisfied."

"Well. All right, then." Aziraphale felt a blush coming on, so he distracted himself with collecting the wine and using a miracle to transport it and his bags to the Bentley. He turned the shop lights off and checked that the sign was still flipped to closed, and then there was nothing for it but to follow Crowley out. "Have you got a plan, or shall we just start driving?"

"'Course I have a plan," Crowley said, affronted. Aziraphale gave him an expectant look, and Crowley sighed. "Not telling yet, all right? It's a good one, though."

"Fine," Aziraphale huffed. He softened when he saw Crowley's hopeful expression. "Keep your secrets, then, if you must. I trust you—must do, really, after everything."

The boundaries of physical contact between them, even now, were undefined and murky at best. As they got into the Bentley, Aziraphale leaned over and planted his lips on Crowley's cheek anyway. Crowley, sputtering, sped away from the curb.

*

The drive was awkward at first. For one, Crowley was still keeping mum about his plans, no matter how many different ways Aziraphale thought of to ask him about it. He knew they were traveling south, away from London, but that was about as far as he'd gotten.

"'S a _surprise_ ," Crowley insisted. He was wearing his sunglasses, but even with the sun's glare cutting through the windshield, Aziraphale saw enough to know he was making the same face he did when he didn't want to be caught out doing something kind. "Promise, you're going to find out."

"Oh, you fiend," Aziraphale said, sitting back in his seat and pouting.

"Hey." Crowley turned to him and smiled. It caught Aziraphale off guard, how open it was, how _excited_ , with no trace of malice or caution to twist it. "We'll get there soon enough." Then he went back to tapping on the steering wheel and humming to himself, something tuneless and happy.

Crowley had driven as recklessly as ever on the way out of London. Now that they were outside the city proper, though, he'd slowed to an almost sedate pace. Aziraphale wondered if that was for his benefit, or if the slower speed was Crowley's actual preference and the fast pace of the city, or his own demonic habits, or both brought out the other in him.

Regardless, Aziraphale enjoyed taking their time driving through the countryside. They passed farmlands, several flocks of sheep, and in the distance, two horseback riders, walking side by side. Aziraphale entertained himself by pointing things out to Crowley, who smiled and encouraged him every time, no matter how silly.

"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live out here?" he asked.

The car swerved. Aziraphale looked over sharply at Crowley, who was gripping the steering wheel and regaining control over himself. "What do you mean?" he asked, in a tone that sounded far too casual to Aziraphale.

"Nothing, really." Satisfied that Crowley wasn't going to run them off the road, Aziraphale's gaze drifted out the window, towards the chalk hills and green grass and the little houses that dot the landscape. "It's just—well, it's just _nice_ , don't you think? Sort of peaceful. We've made our home in the city for so long, I'm afraid I've forgotten what actual quiet sounds like."

"Hmmm," Crowley said. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, but eventually gave up and focused on the road, which Aziraphale knew he didn't need to do.

There were things, Aziraphale realized, that Crowley wanted to say to him but was holding back. Even now, when they'd been intimate with each other, when they'd pledged their loyalty and trust. No more sides, just theirs.

He didn't know how to push past the barrier Crowley had thrown up, though, so he kept his thoughts to himself for the next hour of their drive and watched the landscape go by. Aziraphale brooded, instead, on terrible possibilities for why Crowley might have been so suddenly eager to take him away from London, and how he was perhaps missing the safety of his bookshop after all, and whether this thing with Crowley was, as much as he wanted it, still going too fast.

After a while, Crowley's phone, sitting between them on the seat, chimed with a notification. Crowley scrambled for it, but Aziraphale, now desperate for a diversion, was faster. It took him a second to process what he was looking at.

"Crowley," he said.

"Yeah?" Crowley said, far too quick to be casual.

"There's an owl on your phone." The notification stayed politely in place so Aziraphale could read it. "It says you need to complete a French lesson."

Crowley visibly swallowed. "That's, uh. Just a thing, really. No big deal."

"It sounds quite insistent." Aziraphale set the phone down. "Crowley…."

He wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. _What's going on? Do I need to be concerned? Or is relearning a language just another faddish hobby you've picked up?_

(Aziraphale still remembered, with some fondness and second-hand embarrassment, the time Crowley had insisted he'd learned contact juggling and had wound up not only dropping his balls all over the bookshop floor, but breaking an antique vase besides. It had been one of the uglier ones, though, so Aziraphale wasn't terribly broken up about it.)

He caught Crowley's expression, though, and it seemed to say, _please, not yet. Let me have this._ So Aziraphale resolved all over again to let Crowley have his secrets for now, and he sat up straighter in his seat and changed the subject.

"Have we got any biscuits?" he asked. "I'm feeling a bit in need of one."

Crowley jerked his thumb towards the backseat. "Knew you would. They're in the back." His shoulders slumped, and his mouth curved up in what looked like relief.

Aziraphale twisted around until he spotted the tartan tin from his own kitchen. When he opened it, he found neat stacks of shortbread digestives—thanks to Crowley, who knew him so well, even in these small things. He took two for himself, then held up the tin for Crowley, who shrugged before reaching over and popping one in his mouth.

"Might as well," Crowley said through a mouthful. Biscuit crumbs fell onto his shirt and evaporated into nothing just as quickly. "We've still got a long way to go."

*

Eventually, they approached England's southern coast. Aziraphale rolled the window down so he could smell the salt air better, pointedly ignoring the faces Crowley subsequently pulled—which were really just for show, anyway.

"Oh! Are you taking me to the seaside?" Aziraphale could picture it now—the two of them holding hands in the tide, lounging around in the sand and drinking cocktails, ordering far too much seafood at one of the little restaurants along the beach.

Crowley made a vague noise that rolled around in his mouth before escaping as a series of consonants. "Weeelllll," he said. "Not exactly… _this_ seaside."

Aziraphale turned to him, ready to ask what he meant by that, but Crowley just flashed him a grin. Instead of turning off the motorway towards the beach, he kept driving, and driving, until they approached the entrance to the Channel Tunnel.

"So." Crowley's smile spread across his face until he looked almost manic. Aziraphale could see in it how terribly, terribly nervous he was. "What would you say to a few weeks on the coast of France?"

Crowley pointed across the Channel, where the Continent was a mere blip of land on the other side. "Warm sun on your skin… waves crashing… all the fancy French cocktails we can drink…."

Aziraphale thought about Crowley's proposal for half a second and decided he felt like kissing Crowley for it. This seemed like another occasion when it might be welcomed, and very little else was stopping him, so he leaned across the moving car and did it, just a quick peck to Crowley's very surprised lips.

"My dear," Aziraphale said. He didn't caress Crowley's face, because Crowley had to get back to driving the car. "I think that sounds just perfect. Exactly what we need, really."

"Okay." Crowley nodded a few times in quick succession as he guided the Bentley into the tunnel. "Okay. Good! Good."

Aziraphale did reach over and pat Crowley's knee, then, and the poor dear settled down a little. He thought he might be getting better at this—this relationship thing. Possibly. How did one know, anyway?

Inside the tunnel was a truly ingenious travel system the humans had come up with, Aziraphale thought when he saw it. A train would take them across the water, and they wouldn't even have to get out of the car to ride it. Crowley, to Aziraphale's surprise, already had a ticket for the Bentley, not miracled but legitimate.

When it came to the customs officer, though, they exchanged looks and simultaneous sounds of disinclination, snapped their fingers, and sailed on through. Neither of them had a British passport, anyway, so it was really for the best.

They had to wait to cross, time that they passed by eating more of the shortbread, and then it was their turn to board. Crowley grimaced as he drove onto the track.

"Not a _scratch_ ," he hissed under his breath, glaring downward. Aziraphale wasn't sure if he was talking to the car or the train and decided not to ask. Then the train began to move, and they were off, no turning back.

The trip across the Channel took roughly half an hour, give or take. Crowley relaxed once they got going, and he let go of the steering wheel and draped his arm along the back of the seat. His fingertips brushed Aziraphale's shoulder. "Surprised?"

"Very," Aziraphale admitted. The tunnel whizzed by around them. He leaned into Crowley's touch and focused on him instead. "We haven't been to France in—oh, ages now, goodness."

"You were in all those frills." That easy, flirty smile, not so panicky now, crossed Crowley's face again. "I remember."

Aziraphale felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "Oh. Well. You were quite fetching yourself."

"And here we are again." Crowley nudged Aziraphale's leg with his, and then left it there, pressed close. Aziraphale didn't pull away, either.

"Here we are," Aziraphale said. A beat passed, then he added, "I'm—I'm glad to be here with you, Crowley. Us, here together like this. I—I hope you don't mind if I say so."

He hated how tentative his voice sounded. Apparently, he hadn't managed to shake off everything of the last six thousand years. Crowley's eyes went soft, so soft that Aziraphale had trouble meeting them.

"'Course I don't mind," Crowley said softly. "You can—yeah. You can say that as much as you like."

*

The northern coast of France, admittedly, looked a lot like the southern coast of England—cliffs, and rocks, and sedate holiday goers, although with slightly more relaxed standards of dress that likely would have scandalized Aziraphale had he not lived through the whole of human fashion development.

Everything seemed brighter and more colorful on this side of the water, though. Maybe it was the fact that he was on holiday himself and therefore of a mind to enjoy himself more, or maybe it was simply that Crowley was next to him, much happier now that he was the one driving the Bentley again. His red hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, tousled and beautiful.

After a little while, when they approached a small city that was likely once a small village, Crowley called someone and spoke to them in French. Aziraphale had stubbornly refused to learn any French more modern than the Middle Ages after that whole dreadful business in the Bastille, so he didn't have much of a clue as to what Crowley was saying, though the gist of it seemed to be him announcing their presence to whoever was on the other end.

"Rental agent," Crowley explained when he hung up. "I swear, this agency's gotta be taking their cues from Downstairs with all the paperwork they've made me fill out and fax over— _fax_ , angel, can you believe that? Like I just have a fax machine lying around my flat." He waved a hand in outrage. Aziraphale, who'd never once needed to send a facsimile since the days of hand copying, nodded along. "Anyway, I hope they were worth it. We got a _fantastic_ deal on this place."

It took Aziraphale a minute to wrap his head around all of that. Even then, it didn't register at first. Rental agent, not hotel concierge. Crowley actually filling out tedious human paperwork instead of just convincing them that they know him. Plural we.

When he thought he'd come to the right conclusion, he said, "You rented us a house?"

Aziraphale hoped he was right. When he caught the sheepish look on Crowley's face, he knew he was.

"Yeah." Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought, well, I know you like hotels, but that's really only fun for a few nights, and it's not really a proper end-of-the-world holiday if we don't live it up in a different country for a few _weeks_ , at least." There were some leaps of logic being made there, but Aziraphale decided not to call him out on them.

"Plus," Crowley added, "we'll be alone, no other people milling around and being obnoxious because _they're_ on holiday, and that's what I really wanted. You, me, and a nice private strip of beach."

He looked embarrassed, like he thought he shouldn't want that, or Aziraphale wouldn't want that, or like he'd just shown too many of his cards and was reluctant to reveal any more of them. Aziraphale watched Crowley's face for a moment, then, tentatively, reached across the car to enfold Crowley's fingers in his.

"I don't need a hotel," Aziraphale said. "And I certainly don't need other people." He rubbed his thumb across the back of Crowley's hand. "Even if we had to go straight back home now, I've already had a wonderful time traveling with you. Swear on—on my Heyer first editions."

Crowley huffed. "Don't say that." He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, just briefly. "You haven't seen the house yet."

*

They had to go into town to get the keys. Crowley had a discussion with the clerk in rapid-fire French—now Aziraphale saw the point of the owl-enforced lessons, although even he could hear Crowley's distinctly drawling vowels creeping in—for nearly ten minutes before she handed them over, still giving him a suspicious glare.

"Did you miracle the reservation, by chance?" Aziraphale asked as they got back in the Bentley.

"What? No, of course not!" Crowley sounded more outraged by that than Aziraphale thought was warranted, given how often they'd both abused their powers in that direction. "I did the thing proper, I'll have you know, paid money and everything. She just didn't like me. It happens sometimes, not that you would know."

Then it was Aziraphale's turn to feel indignant. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Crowley shrugged. "You're an angel. Everyone likes you; it's in your nature." He nudged Aziraphale in his side and flashed him a sly grin. "Unless they want to buy a book from you, that is."

"Naturally," Aziraphale said, as pompously as he could. "They ought to know better than that."

He snuck another glance at Crowley, who was trying not to crack up as much as he was. The two of them dissolved into giggles.

"C'mon," Crowley said, putting the car in drive and pulling away, "let's go see our home away from home."

They drove them out to the outskirts of town and then past that, right on the beach. Crowley stopped in front of a clearly well-kept white house with green shutters and a little patio table in front. It was smaller than Aziraphale would have thought, given Crowley's expensive tastes, but charming from the outside and just the perfect size for two to stay comfortably.

Aziraphale got out of the car as soon as it stopped and breathed in the warm ocean air. Waves crashed in the distance, and he could hear seabirds and smell salt and brine. Already anticipating the rest of his and Crowley's holiday, he went eagerly to the front door of the house, only to realize that Crowley had the keys and wasn't following behind him.

"Crowley?" When Aziraphale turned around, Crowley was hanging back next to the car. "You all right over there?"

Crowley, who was staring at the house, gave himself a little shake and came towards him, shoes crunching on the wide gravel path. "Yeah. Fine."

He unlocked the door, and they went inside. Right off the bat, Aziraphale could see a whimsically decorated kitchen, an equally bright and cheerful sitting room, and an open staircase leading to the second floor. It was nothing like either of their places in London. He adored it. "Crowley, it's perfect."

"Yeah? You think so?" Crowley cleared his throat. "I mean, yeah. 'Course it is, I have good taste."

Aziraphale gave him a look, so Crowley would know how ridiculous Aziraphale thought that statement was, and stepped further into the house. They took a little tour; it turned out that there wasn't much to the first floor besides what they'd seen, plus the bathroom-slash-laundry-room.

The second floor was just a single loft bedroom with a slanted ceiling and a large window that illuminated the room. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, covered with a white quilted bedspread. All at once, Aziraphale was struck by the implications of that—of there being only one bedroom, at this secluded beach, in this cozy little house for two.

Crowley came up behind him and slung an arm around his waist. Aziraphale didn't quite jump out of his skin, but it was a near thing. He was sure Crowley could feel him tense, regardless, because he only gave Aziraphale a quick squeeze there before withdrawing.

"You'll take the bed, of course," Aziraphale said. The words spilled out of him thoughtlessly, on instinct. _Don't get too close; it's too dangerous for you both._ "I mean, you—you sleep. So it makes sense."

"I've seen you sleep." Crowley looked at him sideways, frowning. Aziraphale hated seeing it and knowing he was spoiling everything with his hesitancy and fears.

Crowley continued, "I won't force you to share with me; it's your holiday, too. Stay up all night if you like. But…."

Aziraphale took a breath, looked into Crowley's eyes, and decided to put his worries aside for the time being. "But?"

"I happen to know," Crowley said, turning to Aziraphale and taking both his hands, "that napping on holiday is a _vital_ part of the experience. And I, for one, am absolutely beat after all that driving." He took a few steps toward the bed and led Aziraphale with him. "Come lie down with me? Just for a bit."

"It _is_ awfully warm out," Aziraphale admitted. "I suppose I could do with a little rest."

They removed their shoes and lay down on the bed next to each other, face to face but not quite cuddling. Crowley closed his eyes and settled in. Aziraphale followed suit, and he subsequently resolved to rest and try not to think about anything at all, just for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up where it left off, but now we get Crowley's pov. Some angst and confusion, but ends on a light note. Also, did we mention there are crepes?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst train is rolling through friends, so do be aware! There is some swearing too, so heads up for that. The chapter does end on a light note, though, so hopefully it's not too heavy. <3 Also, Big thanks to [madeofmydreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmydreams) for betaing!

For a while, everything was alright. Peachy, _good_ even, as much as that word left a sour taste in his mouth. For just the briefest of seconds, Crowley thought maybe he hadn’t messed everything up by getting a rental with only one bed in it. 

He had wrestled with that decision for a solid week honestly, and sure, okay, he had maybe used a miracle to make sure no one else snapped the place up while he deliberated, but in the end he didn’t think it would be that much of a dealbreaker. Really, Crowley thought with a sigh, how could it be? Sharing a bed on holiday was decidedly less intimate than swapping bodily fluids, or even bodies for that matter, wasn’t it? 

But still, he had worried, and apparently for good reason. The way Aziraphale had tensed in his arms a few moments ago still fresh in his mind. Even so, he had conceded to Crowley’s plea, had crawled into bed with him and agreed to a nap. 

Even if they were a full arm’s length away from each other, at least they were here, together. Aziraphale had said that earlier when they were driving, and while Crowley hadn’t been able to fully articulate how much he reciprocated, he felt the same way.

Any way, and he did mean _any_ way, they could be together was perfect in Crowley’s eyes. After being so far gone on Aziraphale for so long, spending much of that time apart, anything the angel did that included Crowley was worth it. Spending a quiet night in with drinks, going to feed the ducks, or listening to Aziraphale rant about the difference in the quality of inks made from his favorite shop between 1632 and 1633, and the inks made between 1633 through 1636 when they went out of business. Worth it. 

Even sharing several awkward hours driving from Soho to France with apprehension thick enough to taste, Crowley treasured those moments too. Because ultimately, hopefully, they all led to this: Aziraphale and him quietly basking in each other’s warmth, alone from prying eyes, together. Just… together.

With his eyes shut, Crowley imagined Aziraphale trying to kip next to him, though he was likely just lying there, wide awake and soundlessly fidgeting in his own mind while he waited for Crowley to doze off. When the mattress shifted a scant five minutes later, he cracked one eye open to see Aziraphale’s backside seated on the edge of the bed. He looked over his shoulder at Crowley, no doubt to check if Crowley had stirred, and a guilty frown passed over his face.

“I’m sorry dear, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just thought, well, rather than wait until dark, that I might bring our belongings in, get things settled.” Crowley fought the urge to mention there would still be several hours of daylight, even with the changing of the seasons, and instead gave a shrug.

“If that’s what you want…?” He watched Aziraphale swallow, before that familiar set of his shoulders, a veritable air of donning armor, told him the answer before Aziraphale spoke.

“Not that this wasn’t..ni-, wasn’t pleasant after that drive, I do think I’d like to tend to our things. Make sure everything is accounted for. Sort out our...” he gestured, having gotten up and already miracled his shoes back on, “...er, things.” Aziraphale winced at the lame finish to his excuse and the demon quirked a single brow.

The air was quiet between them, and Crowley knew as well as Aziraphale that whatever the angel really wanted to sort out had little to do with his tea collection and knickers. Crowley held his eyes for a beat before shrugging again, rolling onto his back to stare at the slanted beams of the ceiling.

“N’yeah, sure. Go ahead. Both our holidays, right?” He shut his eyes so Aziraphale wouldn’t see all the emotions that always seemed to escape through his serpentine features. “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to get back to it. Long drive and all that.” The only problem with not looking at the angel when he spoke, was that Crowley couldn’t see how Aziraphale reacted. 

If it was with regret... or relief.

“Oh, Oh! Of course darling. Please, dream of whatever you like best!” Behind his eyelids, Crowley set a new record of how far back his eyes rolled, but found himself smiling nonetheless. Typical angel, always trying to- When the ghost of fingers trailed over his cheeks, he inhaled sharply, but the touch was gone as soon as it came. 

He heard Aziraphale walk away with a sigh, and even though Crowley felt hurt, more than he knew was rational over Aziraphale walking away from a _nap_ of all things when they both knew the angel only occasionally slept, he didn’t want Aziraphale to think he was mad. In fact, Crowley felt 110% in that moment that if he didn’t tell the angel he loved him, out loud _again,_ he wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of his existence.

“Aziraphale!” A squeak on the steps told him Aziraphale had stopped and was listening, waiting for whatever the demon might say. Crowley didn’t look over to confirm it, and opened his mouth to talk, but hesitated. Suddenly, the words he wanted to say felt like tar on his tongue. He swallowed thickly, inwardly snarling at his corporation’s bloody reaction, heart pounding needlessly fast inside his chest and spoke a half truth instead. That was easier, safer.

“If ‘m not up by tea, come wake me?” He imagined the angel smiling, and a second later a soft ‘of course’, floated over to him before light footfalls descended down the stairs and Crowley was left alone.

Crowley sighed, this was not how he had imagined the first day of their holiday going. Although, he thought as he brought both hands up to scrub down his face in a furious clawing motion, he didn’t know what he _had_ expected to happen either. 

Admittedly, things were going well between Aziraphale and him. They had held hands on the way back to his flat that fateful almost-last day of existence, and from there they had eventually fallen asleep over a bottle of whiskey on the couch, slumped against each other as they tried to decipher Nutter’s last prophecy.

Aziraphale, clever bastard that he was, had figured it out eventually. 

After their ploy had worked, and they weren’t each reduced to a pile of ethereal goo, Crowley thought things would change. Hoped they would change. And Go- Sat- Somebody! Things _had_ changed, of course things had changed. If they hadn’t, then there would have been no way he would have been able to say he now knew what Aziraphale tasted like, as well as smelled.

Several times over.

But for as much as their dynamic had changed, it always felt like they took two giant running leaps back. They’d been intimate, yes, but _somebody_ , they still couldn’t even talk about their feelings! Not once, since the thwarted Armageddon had they been able to sit down and actually dig into it. Unless they were both outrageously sozzled, and those talks hardly counted as talking, did they? Not when they sobered up as soon as one of them got too close to the heart of the matter. Then they’d share an awkward kiss and call it a night, Aziraphale falling into his books and Crowley falling into a pit of self-loathing despair that often held a bed at the bottom.

Crowley breathed hard out of his nose and rolled onto his side, reaching a hand out where Aziraphale had been, but it was already cold. 

That’s how it had been for 6000 years, them tip-toeing around each other, around the truth. But Crowley didn’t want that anymore. Hell, he’d never wanted that! And he thought Aziraphale had felt the same. 

So why was this so hard? 

They were on their own side now, no rules! They should be able to do and say whatever they wanted! Crowley let out a sigh and opened his eyes to trace the whorls on the wooden beams decorating the room, eyes chasing the patterns the universe deigned each piece to hold as if the answers he wanted could be found there.

After several minutes of increasingly uncomfortable silence, Crowley sighed again and swung his long legs over the side of the bed to sit on the edge. Any tiredness he might have had from the drive, had dissipated with the creeping doubt that he’d made Aziraphale come along on this impromptu trip when he would really rather be back in his bookshop, sipping cocoa and reading a worn book while Crowley was elsewhere. Less in his way, his space.

Even now he felt it as he heard Aziraphale making a cuppa. Humming, but not in the way he did when he was happy, when he would wiggle in place as his tea steeped or his cocoa heated. There was an edge to it, an uncertainty. 

No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, Crowley was sure he was the reason for it. And damn it all, if he didn’t know how to fix it. Any of it.

He did know, however, that this current ‘arrangement’ wasn’t working, regardless of what they called it. He looked around him, and suddenly the cosiness of the single bedroom was too much. Crowley needed some air.

Aziraphale startled when he swung onto the ground floor landing and hopped off the stairwell, but quickly recovered his composure.

“Oh! Crowley, I’m sorry did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet.” He frowned but Crowley shook his head, waving Aziraphale’s concern off with a few consonants and vowels thrown together.

“Doesn’t matter, couldn’t sleep. ‘M going for a walk.” He heard Aziraphale start to say something, but the door closed before he could finish saying it, and Crowley wasn’t about to duck back in to see what it was. He needed to get out, stretch his legs. He needed… he needed… 

Well, he didn’t fucking know what he needed, but whatever it was it obviously wasn’t something he was going to find while cooped up with an angel who so clearly didn’t want to be there, be with him. His hands started to shake so he shoved them as far as they could go in his jean pockets.

He thought the air and the distance would help, but after a while he felt even worse out in the open than being separated by a few walls. If anything, it only reminded him of their most recent, and worst, argument they’d ever had. When words had failed them each and they’d both turned their fears into slashing blows of untruths instead, all because they had pushed too far. After that terrible thing, like now, Crowley had run off to lick his wounds and mourn the future he should have known could never be, thinking he’d lost everything that ever mattered.

And then he actually did lose him. 

Now here he was once more, picking his way among pebbles and sand in the opposite direction of his angel, yet again feeling sorry for himself. Fucking Satan and God above! It made him want to scream.

He finally stopped walking and settled on a piece of driftwood with a huff. Stretching his legs, Crowley looked out over the water but even that was unnaturally calm and offered nothing for his mind to focus on. He hissed, but the half-hearted sound was lost in the wind.

He sat like that for some time, enough for the late afternoon to melt into night, letting his mind ebb and flow like the water before him. When the air started to gain the chilly edge of a knife that cut into his lean frame, he conjured up a small fire. He let himself smile at the colors, the bright blues and subtle greens that reminded him of Aziraphale, and then he ached all over again, wishing Aziraphale was by his side to enjoy the sight as well. So Crowley could lean over and whisper in his ear how beautiful the flames were, but how dull they compared to the flickers of sparks that made up Aziraphale’s eyes.

Crowley imagined Aziraphale would gasp, surely look away as if embarrassed that such words could be said about him and meant. He’d smile that little smile, that said Crowley had said or done something that Aziraphale was going to commit to memory forever. Then, Crowley continued the fantasy in his mind, he’d slip a hand around Crowley if he hadn’t already and pull him tightly to his side. They’d be warm even as the last of the daylight dwindled, and they’d not want for anything than to be close in each other’s space.

Crowley sighed, a shiver running through him, longing for that body of celestial origin to warm him, for the timeline where he was able to say and do those things out loud, without second guessing any of it. With a scowl, he banged both fists onto his thighs and the fire kicked up in an angry surge before falling back down to a small content crackle.

“Crowley?” The voice came from behind him and Crowley blinked, letting out a controlled breath before turning.

“One and only.” He looked over a shoulder and saw Aziraphale standing a few paces away, picking at a blanket, and Crowley couldn’t help the small grin form on his face despite the raging storm still brewing inside him. Aziraphale walked out of the shadows gradually and into the light of the fire, smiling when his eyes met Crowley’s. They quickly furrowed however, when he noticed the way Crowley’s shoulders trembled and he briskly hastened his step to come around the driftwood log and stand in front of the demon.

“You silly serpent,” he clucked, and made quick work of shaking the blanket out before wrapping it around his shoulders. Crowley took the ends that were pushed into his hands with surprise, and held them. 

“Were you going to stay out here until you froze to discorporation?” Aziraphale’s hands, which had been hesitant all day, were on his face; pressed against Crowley’s forehead, running fixedly over his cheeks. 

“I- no? Figured you’d save me before that could happen.” Aziraphale pursed his lips and tilted his head, as if he wasn’t sure Crowley was telling the truth. And honestly, Crowley wasn’t sure either, but Aziraphale didn’t press it, instead softening his gaze and easing up on his firm assessment of Crowley’s circulation. His fingers lingered over Crowley’s cheek and stayed there, cradling his sharp features.

Crowley saw several emotions flicker through Aziraphale’s eyes, but eventually they landed on an all too familiar fondness. Aziraphale smiled, shook his head, and eventually tsked. 

“I don’t want to interrupt anything,” he said lightly, taking his hand back and Crowley missed it immediately, “but would you, perhaps, be ready to come back? It’s just, I do very much enjoy your presence, and I, well…” He looked away from Crowley to gaze at the fire and then sighed, taking a seat next to him on the log. 

He didn’t say anything for a long while, watching the flames lick up at the inky sky, as Crowley kept his eyes on Aziraphale.

“I-,” he started, looking at Crowley, but turned back to the fire, “Crowley my dear, I love you. And I don’t know what I did to drive you away tonight, but I absolutely abhor it.” He took in a stuttering breath and finally looked at Crowley head on, with nothing to hide behind.

“You mean everything to me. And I- I hate how I can’t get this right!” The love that came off of him was strong and Crowley felt his eyes prickle from the holy tinge to it. He dropped his gaze to tame his reaction and felt Aziraphale gasp next to him. Crowley quickly reached out with his hand, still wrapped up in the blanket, and twined it with his to make sure he didn’t get the wrong idea.

He still wasn’t unaffected when he looked back up, but maybe that was for the better. To survive Heaven and Hell they had had to choose their faces carefully. But the more he thought of it, that’s all they had ever been doing, him especially, wearing a face that wouldn't give too much away, wouldn’t get either of them in too much trouble. 

He was tired of wearing a face that no longer fit, that had never fit in the first place.

“Aziraphale, I chose you, never forget that. I would choose you every time, under any circumstance. You _are_ my everything. I think,” he said with a chuckle, “we’re just- I- we want the same thing, don’t we?” The hand in his squeezed tightly before Crowley’s senses were overridden by the soft lips pressing sweetly against his for the briefest of seconds.

“Oh!” 

Crowley felt his forehead scrunch together in confusion as Aziraphale broke away sharply, but a quick apologetic kiss to his browline eased some of his nerves. “I’m sorry love, that is always lovely to hear, and I agree, but you really are quite cold. Perhaps we should get a wiggle on, hmm? Talk more inside?” 

Crowley, although his anxiety was pacified for now, knew this wasn’t enough. Not for them to figure out how to stop dancing around each other, and how to dance with each other. But, it was cold, and the exhaustion from the day was catching up to him. The thought of a warm bed was a very tempting offer. He rose, letting Aziraphale pull him up by their joined hands and, after putting out the fire, made their way back to the rented house.

The sight of smoke coming out of the little chimney had Crowley groaning in appreciation, thrilled with the prospect of warming up. He’d spent too long out on the surf, and he knew it. The blanket Aziraphale had brought helped, but the damage was already done. Not that he was going to admit that to Aziraphale.

Although, judging by the side eye he felt on him, it seemed Aziraphale likely already knew.

*

Crowley was snarling before he realized why, throwing a hand over his face. At the pull of the soft quilt that moved over him, he jostled, blinking rapidly before he realized where he was, groaning as he pulled the blankets over his face to hide from the sunlight filling the room. A moment passed, however, and he sighed before he pulled them back down, looking around the loft. Right, he was on holiday...with Aziraphale.

Crowley ran a hand over his face and sighed. Last night… His face flushed remembering how he had mucked everything up.

 _“Go and rest on the couch, I’ll make something hot.”_

Crowley had wanted to argue with him, but the stern look he got reminded him how important it was to pick his battles, especially when it concerned a battle-ready angel. He had shrugged a nod and shuffled into the little sitting room, depositing himself in a loose-limbed pile on the couch with only his head sticking out of the blanket.

He had waited there, waited for Aziraphale to come back with the promised drink, waited to talk about what had happened, waited. But he must have fallen asleep before they could.

Well, he thought, here’s to another day, another try.

He got up and idly scratched his chest, wondering if today would be any better, or if he was just fooling himself. He faintly recalled the memory of being carried up the steps and tucked into bed, so he supposed that was something, at least. Even if they were shit at communicating, at least he knew Aziraphale wasn’t pretending when he said he cared for him. 

Sighing, Crowley looked around and saw his luggage near the staircase. Aziraphale must have brought it up while he slept. Crowley smiled, and lugged it over to the bed, not bothering to make it. If it knew what was best, it would be done up again by the time he came back to sleep tonight.

He undid the zips of his suitcase, and pulled out several clothing items. Opening the closet, his lips pulled into a grin as he took in the side that already held Aziraphale’s clothes. He laughed at how much tartan there was amidst the creams and otherwise soft colors, and shook his head as he put his own things away.

When the last of his shirts and dresses were hung, he thought he heard clanging from the kitchen. His watch told him it was past 11 and he wondered if Aziraphale was getting antsy for their first meal in France since he’d nearly been beheaded a few centuries prior. As far as Crowley knew, neither of them had been back since that revolution business. Would crepes be too much for their first official meal together on holiday? 

He was downstairs five minutes later in some cuffed black jeans and a loose grey henley with the sleeves rolled up, and found Aziraphale right where Crowley thought he would be, sipping tea while reading a book. 

Crowley longed to sidle up next to him and drop a kiss on the top of his head, smile as Aziraphale set his mug down and reached up to hold one of Crowley’s hands on his shoulders, while maybe even rubbing his knuckles. He wanted to lean down and whisper naughty things in Aziraphale’s ear to see him flush from more than their beachy getaway.

But all of those fantasies left his head as soon as he saw Aziraphale turn and look at him, shoulders stiffening and eyeing him expectantly. Crowley felt his own face freeze, however, in a mix between fear and mortification. Turning quickly on his heel, he swiveled in the direction of the kitchen intent on finding the coffeemaker before Aziraphale could begin throwing words in his direction.

To his surprise, there was already a mug full of coffee waiting on the counter, looking perfectly hot, perfectly drinkable. How long it had been there like that, waiting for him, Crowley couldn’t say. For all he knew it was the same hot drink Aziraphale made for him last night, kept at the ready by a frivolous miracle. The only thing Crowley was sure of, was that when he picked it up it would be exactly to his liking. He reached out a hand to do just that, when he heard Aziraphale walk up behind him.

“Dearest…” Crowley brought his hand back to his front, balling it into a fist.

“Yesss?”

He waited, his teeth clenched tight, angry at the sibilant that slipped out as he mustered the strength to turn around and face the aftermath of last night. Because surely, surely Aziraphale would have words for him. But for all of the expectations and realities he readied himself for, none of them had included a giggle. He whipped around to face Aziraphale who threw a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, I apologize, you’re still waking up. I’ll let you have your coffee.” He went to go back to his book and Crowley blinked hard, what?

“What?” 

Aziraphale paused and looked back at him.

“Well I didn’t mean to bombard you, but I was hoping we might go out, enjoy the day! That’s how these holidays are supposed to work, I believe. But you only just got up, and I can tell you’re still a bit groggy.”

“Groggy,” Crowley replied, rolling the word around in his mouth like gravel. Aziraphale thought he was.... groggy?

“Your sibilants dear. I can tell when you’re tired, or mad, or on your way to truly drunk, or when-” but then he cut himself off and blushed, shaking his head. “The point is, you must be tired from last night yet, and the long drive. I didn’t mean to crowd you.” Crowley blinked again as Aziraphale waited for him to confirm his hypothesis or otherwise respond.

But the longer it tumbled in his head, the further removed Crowley felt from the whole bloody thing. Aziraphale thought he was hissing and holding his back to him because he was _tired?_ He stared at the man-shaped being in front of him until it clicked, and then he let out a huff.

Whether Aziraphale really thought Crowley was standoffish right now because he hadn’t got his 12 hours or whatever, was neither here nor there. The fact was, Aziraphale had gone back to dancing around the subject. Maybe it had been the open night air, or because Crowley was in need of a little tlc last night, but whatever open window of honesty they’d had then, had slammed shut today.

Denial. Aziraphale had fallen back on denial. Crowley shook his head.

“Er, yeah, tired. That’s me.” He watched as Aziraphale relaxed at the confirmation and smiled, as Crowley felt something crack just a little more behind his ribcage.

It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t want to figure out what the two of them were, wade through these feelings for each other together, he just… couldn’t, could he? Not yet anyway, it was too soon. Hell, the world had almost ended not even a month ago! To deal with his feelings concerning their convoluted history _and_ his estrangement from Heaven at the same time? Aziraphale was going to need time. 

It wasn’t something Crowley had really considered, having come to terms with his own feelings for Aziraphale sometime over oysters a long while ago, and his banishment from Heaven even further back. Of course Aziraphale would need time. 

Well, Crowley had been patient so far, hadn’t he? He hoped it wouldn’t take another 6000 years for them to get to where they were comfortable and open and... bless it, he was starting to sound like a regular old human now, pining like anything. Maybe he had gone native. 

And yet... it was true. He wanted all of that, wanted there to be no space for any doubts to linger. He didn’t know how long it was going to take for Aziraphale to be able to even breach the subject, but Crowley knew he wasn’t going anywhere in the meantime.

However long it took, he would always be at Aziraphale’s side, as long as _he_ wanted Crowley there. 

He nodded and plastered on a smile that he didn’t really feel, but knew Aziraphale needed. 

“Right then, you’re ready to do this properly? Really holiday, take our long overdue break?” He picked up the coffee Aziraphale made for him, planting his arse on the convenient stool, and, as he predicted, took a sip of perfectly flavored brew.

“Oh Yes!” His face lit up and Crowley knew it could be all of eternity before Aziraphale figured himself out and Crowley would still be here. 

“While you were sleeping I took the liberty to find some pamphlets and books to see what France has to offer these days, and I’ve been working on a list. I think you'll find I’ve included things we’ll both enjoy.” Aziraphale had a list in his hand a second later, and after rolling his eyes at the sleight of hand, Crowley looked over Aziraphale’s perfect script.

“Okay let’s see.. Louvre, sure, might see some old portraits eh? The tower, okay. Wine tastings, yeah. Sure, sure, okay, wait, Notre-Dame?” He looked up and saw the angel had gone very still. Crowley took in the pinch between his eyebrows and the tightness of his jaw and smiled a softer, more genuine smile, free from his usual mockery, “Yeah, okay, why not, always did like the windows. Could even spare a blessing, for old times’ sake.” Aziraphale let out a pleased sigh but Crowley ignored it and the blush that arose on his cheeks, reading the rest of Aziraphale’s handwriting. When Crowley finished the list, he nodded before handing it back.

“It’s a good list, I’ll give you that, but you are missing some crucial vacation musts.” Aziraphale looked aghast.

“What! Whatever did I miss?” He looked over his own list and Crowley chuckled, putting down his drink to count on his fingers as he listed off Aziraphale’s oversight.

“Looooong naps in the sun, not lifting a single bloody finger, and most importantly, doing whatever we want when we want because we’re not on anyone’s schedule but our own.” He saw Aziraphale purse his lips, about to contradict him, but then frown down at his list instead. A weight seemed to fall on his shoulders and he nodded once, folding the paper up and tucking it in a pocket. Panic laced through Crowley, and he leaped off his chair, slowly going over to him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, I meant what I said angel, it’s a good list, and we’ll work through it, but remember, we’ve got time.” He thought about that, and about everything that had been tumbling around his head for the last two days and sighed. When he repeated himself, he was referencing more than just Aziraphale’s highly detailed itinerary.

“We’ve got time.” 

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, holding what Crowley hoped to be the same wavelength of thought as something flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes before he broke their point of contact.

“Thank you.” 

Crowley smiled, squeezing his shoulder, before going back for his coffee. 

“Although...” 

Crowley paused mid-stride and laughed, catching Aziraphale’s bastardly smile. 

“I have heard brunch is not something to be missed.” 

Crowley saw Aziraphale’s barely restrained wiggle and threw his head back. Right, they were going to be okay, weren’t they? If Aziraphale was joking about brunch, surely they were going to be okay.

“What, dressed like that?” he asked, bringing a knowing grin to both of their faces. Aziraphale gasped as if affronted, and looked down at his usual affair, layers upon layers of vintage fabrics that would make the angel stick out just as much now, as he had during the revolution. Then Aziraphale smirked, rolling his eyes before pulling down a snap and changing his outfit on the spot. 

His new clothing mimicked Crowley’s in style, a loose henley over some well-fitted trousers, topped with an adorable waistcoat because somebody forbid he lose more than one layer when going out in public. But while the style was more Crowley’s, the colors were still undeniably his, all soft creams. 

“Better?” 

Crowley smiled and walked in a slow appreciative circle around him as Aziraphale rolled his neck. All in all, it was a nice look. Very touchable, Crowley had to concede, especially the bow tie-free neck.

Forgetting his own jumbled emotions for a second, Crowley reached out and touched, put an arm around Aziraphale’s back and pulled him close, until they were nose to nose. A hand coming up to rest over his pale column of throat.

“Perfect.” 

And it would have been too, with the way Aziraphale was staring into his eyes, leaning up, bringing their mouths together, when a rumbling between them made him pull back with an embarrassed smile. It took Crowley a minute, but when he realized what it was he cursed. And then he cursed again over another revelation.

“Fuck, you didn’t get dinner last night did you?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but this time his stomach was even louder, filling the room. Of course he hadn’t, he’d come out to find Crowley instead, taking care of him, and then probably forgot to miracle himself something to eat as he worried. Crowley growled and dropped his hands from Aziraphale abruptly. He snapped his fingers, and the Bentley’s keys appeared in his hand as the familiar weight of his phone fell into his pocket.

“C’mon, I owe you a meal.” Aziraphale’s mouth had become an ‘o’ of surprise, but then he smiled fondly at Crowley, back to his usual glowing self.

*

They were in the city a full twenty minutes faster than they had any right to arrive, and seated quickly in the first cafe that caught Aziraphale’s eye. As expected, he wanted crepes, and Crowley ordered them with a side of brioche for him to nibble when those ran out. They shared a glance when the food arrived, Aziraphale’s wink telling Crowley he was thinking about the last time they had crepes too, before tucking in. Meanwhile, Crowley sat with a fresh cup of coffee and watched the angel eat, quiet like he always was as Aziraphale raved about his pastries. 

He didn’t comment on the comfortable looking knit cardigan that had appeared somewhere between parking and being seated. It was just nice to see Aziraphale let go, if even just the little bit of changing up his clothes.

From there they hit the shops and loaded up on groceries for the rest of their stay. Not that they planned on cooking every meal, but Aziraphale thought it would be fun for them to try. And Crowley was never one _not_ to indulge him.

They got back to the rental late in the afternoon, and after spending most of the day in town, were generally just lounging. While Aziraphale took care of the last of the groceries, Crowley found the best spot at the patio table outside. The sun was warm and felt good on his skin. He realised belatedly it had been a long time since he’d had a good bask in the sun.

He was just on the edge of a promising nap, when he felt a hand in his hair. He cracked an eyelid and smiled.

“Mmm, ‘lo.”

“Hello.”

Aziraphale kept running his fingers through Crowley’s hair and he closed his eyes again, enjoying the attention.

“I see now the merits of your shorter list darling, this is quite nice.” Crowley hummed, and in a moment of bravery, reached up to take Aziraphale’s hand in his, bringing the knuckles to his lips to kiss over them.

“Good, I’m glad you’ve come around.” He opened his eyes fully and sat up, looking at Aziraphale. He gave his hand one more kiss before letting them fall joined between them. 

“I know we talked about making risotto for dinner,” Aziraphale started, after they had sat there for a few minutes watching the waves crash down on the shore, “but, would you be opposed if I suggested we take a walk instead? It’s just, the beach is so lovely right now.” His worried eyes met Crowley’s and he squeezed their hands tight.

“Course not angel. That sounds nice. I can order some takeaway and it’ll be here when we get back if you want?” 

Aziraphale let out a breath, and nodded. “Yes, yes I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, while writing this chapter, we found out that driftwood fires that burn blue like that actually create toxic smoke! :o TIL
> 
> You can find us on the tumbles at [waterofthemoon](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com/), and [sk3tchid](https://sk3tchid.tumblr.com/). Come say hello! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! You can find us on Tumblr as [@sk3tchid](https://sk3tchid.tumblr.com) and [@waterofthemoon](https://waterofthemoon.tumblr.com).


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